Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Were You There? Sir, Really?
HAPPINESS RUNS IN
a circular motion
; Donovan sang that, and I believe it. Good times come and
go and change in nature over the years. We age and season and enjoy life as we can.
But if we isolate the old, golden glow of endless horizons and eternal youth, we may more
easily recall Sly Stone's assurance at a hundred ten decibels that
I want to
I want to
I want to take you haaah-yer
,
On that note we may hark to an era more unique than your average once-in-a-lifetime. Who
knows when so much fun will happen again?
The warmth lingers. Sounds echo down the decades. Single frames of it clarify concepts
like doubtlessness, wanderlust and a sense of well-being. They seem so indefinite now, after
so many laps around the track and so much happiness come and gone and come again and
gone again. Life was full and fuller then, with good vibrations seeming involuntary as breath or
pulse. Never before and not since then have a handful of seasons so exquisitely defined the dif-
ference between right and wrong. With the gift of vision we saw, sensed and savored the laugh-
ably clear distinction between the profit motive and greed, between truth and propaganda,
between national interest and defense contractors, between democracy and a war of attrition,
between a lovely cloud of smoke and smoke up the collective ass, between a lovely cloud of
smoke and napalm, between a lovely cloud of smoke and the phantoms of security, compla-
cency and atrophy. Sustained on smoke—stoned to the gills and then some—we saw, we felt,
we knew, some of us. Others observed, apart, sticking a left foot in, pulling a left foot out, but
not quite jumping to the full Hokey Pokey. From those same sidelines they still observe, some
with superiority, confirmed by success.
Tom Brokaw, a cultural clarion claiming that the WWII years framed the best generation,
regretted “the 60s” as a lost opportunity. He dismissed the idealism of “the 60s” as a failed
promise, a fantasy unrealized and unworkable in the world at large. Tom Brokaw aired a TV
special called “The 60s” with personal recollection of “what it was like.” He'd been alive at the
time, and he recalled sanguinely his young adulthood in “the 60s,” when his hair touched his
ears, and bell-bottom pants and a turtleneck were typical for a walk down to the park with his
young kids. At the park others tended their kids in bell-bottoms and period accoutrement. Tom
